


Something Vague: A Collection of e/R ficlets

by finnicks



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnicks/pseuds/finnicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it was an accident—well, mostly an accident.  Well, an accident on Enjolras’ part and a carefully planned and conducted experiment on Grantaire’s.<br/>A collection of shamelessly fluffy (angst to come) one-shots revolving mostly around Enjolras/Grantaire. AU modern university setting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Will Follow You Into the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the wee hours of the night so there are probably mistakes and such. Hope this was okay anyway?? I just have a lot of e/R feels. Also I made a playlist and am working it out of my system by writing little things for each song. I don't know how many there will be yet, but they're not in any order so keep that in mind. They may not even really correlate to each other. Really this is a big experiment that I thought I'd share with all my fellow heartbroken e/R people.
> 
> This chapter inspired by the song "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie

_Say yes we live uncertainty_  
 _And disappointments have to be_  
 _And everyday we might be facing more_  
 _And yes we live in desperate times_  
 _But fading words and shaking rhymes_  
 _There's only one thing here worth hoping for_  
 _With Lucifer beneath you and God above_  
 _If either one of them asks you what your living of_  
 _Say love, say for me love_

 

The day started out like any other for Enjolras; he got up around 8am to get to his 9 o’ clock class, spent lunch in the library, got back to his room (which was being currently occupied by a sleeping Combeferre, who stayed up too late reading to be bothered getting up before 2pm is unnecessary), and decided to head out to the lawn in front of the student center to take advantage of the nice weather while he studied for his midterms—which were in two weeks.

As he settled down with his books and notes at his customary picnic table Enjolras noted with some dissatisfaction that he was one of the only students outside today. It was the Friday before a long weekend so most people were going home, getting ready for the huge part tonight, or sleeping the afternoon away. Sighing and returning to his books, he had only just started really working when a shadow fell over his paper.  Enjolras looked up, scowling at whoever had bothered him.

A jovial—and possibly slightly intoxicated—Grantaire stood grinning in front of him, his customary metal “water” bottle in one hand, a half-smoked cigarette in the other. “Enjolras!” Grantaire cried excitedly and loudly in greeting. Enjolras couldn’t help but wince a little. “What the hell are you doing studying, Apollo? Don’t you know what a _break_ is?”

“Nice to see you, too, Grantaire.” Enjolras said dryly as he surveyed the slightly tipsy Grantaire with a frown of disdain—Enjolras liked Grantaire, he really did. But he also couldn’t help but feel like Grantaire was throwing away all his potential, drowning it in his wine and cigarettes

Grantaire’s face fell a bit at Enjolras’ frown, his words faltered before he could correct himself. “Careful, Apollo, your pretty face might stick like that if you keep making that face.”

Enjolras’ frown deepened. “Don’t call me that,” but he sighed and and motioned for Grantaire to join him and Grantaire complied, looking smug.

“That’s the way I can get your attention, though. You’re too busy off in that head of yours, Apollo. What is it this time, plotting to change the world or writing love poetry to pretty girls like Jehan?” He smirked and leaned forward on one forearm to tap Enjolras on the forehead with a finger.

“Oh, definitely the latter,” Enjolras rolled his eyes but didn’t lean away from Grantaire’s teasing poke which made Grantaire all the bolder.

“I would pay good money to see that! Or better yet, _hear_ you read that. _‘An ode to Patria: The beating of my heart echoes the beating of the drums / It is the light that breaks at dawn when tomorrow comes!’_ ” Grantaire began imitating the Enjolras of his mind, the one who wrote and read poetry. “I can just see you now in a pair of hipster glasses reading your poems in a smoky bar at an open-mic, I’d be there too, of course, cheering you on.”

That merited a laugh from Enjolras which made Grantaire light up all the more. “You’re ridiculous,” he smiled fondly at Grantaire, propping his chin on his hand as he leaned on the table. "Be serious," he urged.

“I am wild,” Grantaire grinned with a slightly maniacal look in his eyes as he leaned in towards Enjolras unconsciously.

“But did you just make all that up now? I quite liked it, maybe you’ll inspire the poet in me yet, Grantaire.” Enjolras felt a goofy kind of grin slid onto his face but he didn’t try to eradicate it, not just yet.

“An artist is only as good as his subject, though.” Grantaire reminded him, still staring intently at Enjolras, his gaze ridiculously steady and unwavering.

“A compliment from the artist himself or merely from his books?” Enjolras asked, knowing Grantaire would fumble at the topic of his art.

He was right; Grantaire broke the unspoken staring contest to take a drag from his cigarette and turned away from Enjolras—knowing the other man’s opinion of his habit—to exhale. “Ah, from me of course, Apollo. I don’t believe in the pretentious words of the “great” artists. I know firsthand that an artist with no muse is worthless.”

“You don’t believe in anything.” Enjolras said before he could stop himself, he regretted it instantly because Grantaire’s face fell when the words struck him.

“Wrong.” He stated simply, blankly. “I _used_ to not believe in anything, I have plenty to believe in now.”

“Really? What, then? I’ve never heard you talk about anything important, Grantaire. At all the ABC meetings, nothing.” Enjolras had begun to grow agitated ,Grantaire’s nihilism and cynicism annoyed him to no end.

“Wrong again.” Grantaire said his tone undefinable, though if Enjolras had to put a word to it, it would be sadness. Grantaire sat a little while longer in silence smoking his quickly shortening cigarette.

“Alright, fine, I’ll bite. What do you believe in, Grantaire? I know it’s not any religion, I’ve never seen you pray or heard you talk about church or anything. It’s not an artist or philosophy and I know it’s not any science, you _hate_ science.” The words spilled out of Enjolras before he thought to stop them, he hadn’t even realized he knew all these things about Grantaire before now, but he brushed the thought away as he turned to wait for Grantaire answer, taking his turn to stare intently at his friend.

“No one knows I hate science and I fucking went to the school of math and science.” Grantaire said quietly after a moment. He turned to Enjolras then and looked him with eyes so saddened and old that Enjolras felt as if Grantaire was staring into his soul from hundreds of years ago. “You’re right, I don’t—didn’t believe in anything. People are shit, school is shit, and life is just traipsing from one tourist attraction to another before we die; I honestly thought that. But then I met you…”

Enjolras opened his mouth to interject; life was what you made of it, life could be amazing if one only cared enough. But Grantaire stopped him with a glare and Enjolras, for once, chose to shut his mouth and listen.

“Shut up, let me finish. Anyway, then I met you, Enjolras. And I think I had a bit of an epiphany, like I saw you talking about revolution or something and you just looked so inspired and so… passionate. I’ve never felt sure of anything in my life but at that moment I knew I was sure I wanted to be your friend. You’re like my religion, you have enough faith in you for two people, I’m sure of that. So, um… yeah. I never tell anyone what I believe in because I’m sure they’ll think I’m joking and just laugh it off but I’m not, I’m not joking, Enjolras. I know I’m never serious about anything, but I’m serious about this, _I believe in you_.” Grantaire stopped to laugh nervously, his eyes locked on his hands clasped in front of him on the table, before adding, “Not to be morbid or anything but I’d die for you, I think, if you asked.” He looked up at Enjolras a new look of uncertainty and relief mingled with horror on his face.

Enjolras was slightly at a loss for words, a feeling all too rare to him. All he could manage was a small “oh, thanks.” after a few moments and he decided to leave it at that. But he found his hand reaching over the table towards Grantaire and he tentatively rested it on Grantaire’s hands still clasped tightly.

A small smile tugged on the corner of Grantaire’s mouth and he ducked a little in embarrassment, his hair falling over his forehead. Enjolras resisted the urge to brush it away from his face, instead running his thumb absentmindedly along Grantaire’s clasped fingers.

Emboldened, Grantaire looked up and seemed to mentally intone words along the lines of “ _fuck it_ ” and slowly closed the distance between them and pressed his mouth softly to Enjolras’.

Enjolras was surprised, but only slightly, and didn’t draw away from Grantaire. He leaned forward even closer and kissed Grantaire back which elicited a small sigh from him that in turn made Enjolras’ heart quicken a bit. Grantaire tasted a bit smoky and slightly like a dark wine yet also indescribably himself, it wasn’t altogether unpleasant Enjolras decided, he could get used to it.

It felt like a lifetime later, yet not long enough, when Grantaire pulled away first, grinning and a bit pink around the ears. “I think I knew,” Enjolras commented after a quiet moment. He watched Grantaire fidget in his seat, he had dropped his cigarette and it lay forgotten on the table.

Enjolras’ phone buzzed with a text—his screen lit up with Courfeyrac’s face. Relieved for a distraction from the growing awkward situation he picked it up and opened the message.

**BROOOOO U STILL STUDYING?? HAVE U SEEN R HE WANTS TO SEE U**

He showed the text to Grantaire, who shrugged noncommittally, with a raised eyebrow before replying.

**I was… Not anymore, though. He’s here with me.**

The next message came too quickly for comfort.

**OHHHHH A BREAK, HUH ;))) TELL R THAT ‘PONINE AND I SAY CONGRATS**

At this one Grantaire proceeded to hide his face in his hands groaning loudly. “I’ll kill them later,” he said as his cheeks reddened. He regained some of his usual composure before looking back up at Enjolras with a wicked grin, “though, I do think I’ve found a new way to get your attention, haven’t I?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, the same usual twinge of fond annoyance for Grantaire returning albeit somewhat more strongly this time. “You do certainly know how to get what you want,” Enjolras said to him teasingly. “But I never pegged as one to be so patient.”

“What can I say, I guess I just know how to play ‘em.” Grantaire laughed and stood up. “Anyway, I need some coffee, it’s entirely too early to be up without caffeine and entirely too late to start partying on my own. Care to join me, Apollo?”

Enjolras still scowled at the name which only encouraged Grantaire, and sighed heavily before shoving his books and notes into his backpack—he knew he wasn’t going to get any more studying done today.


	2. Paperweight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras gets drunk, upset, and sad. Grantaire is there for him, as he always will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Quick chapter... Not really sure how long after ch. 1 this happens but fairly soon? Like a few weeks? I'm sorry I'm bad at creating timelines. Also angst. Wah.)
> 
> Based loosely upon the song "Paperweight" by Joshua Radin.  
> Hope you all are enjoying the feels, xoxo.

_Been up all night staring at you, wondering what's on your mind_   
_I've been this way with so many before but this feels like the first time_   
_You want the sunrise to go back to bed,_   
_I want to make you laugh._   
_Mess up my bed with me, kick off the covers, I’m waiting._   
_Every word you say I think I should write down,_   
_I don't want to forget come daylight._

This time it starts with a shot of vodka. Enjolras was not in a good mood and the night before he had resorted to drinking with Grantaire—much to Grantaire’s surprise. Enjolras had showed up at Grantaire’s flat around 11pm after a particularly bad argument with Combeferre.

Enjolras had been planning an intervention of sorts, one that would involve recruiting the help of the computer-savvy high school student, Gavroche and may have been slightly illegal. Combeferre had told Enjolras to go home before he got anyone killed. The words hit Enjolras harder than anyone expected and he had recoiled, looking as if he’d just been slapped.

The first shot burned in Enjolras’ eyes, his anger only increased by the fiery drink. He ranted about the student body, injustice, the better world he dreamed of, and everything in between as Grantaire silently listened to him with solemn eyes.

The next few were taken in quick succession, downed merely in hopes of drowning some unwanted emotion. It was at this point that Enjolras’ words had started becoming slurred, mixed, and nonsensical. Grantaire would have smiled at the confused Enjolras but he noticed all too soon the broken, harrowed look of guilt in his friend’s eye.

“What are you afraid of?” Grantaire asked him, his own drink forgotten in lieu of watching Enjolras.

Enjolras muttered something unintelligible before his head dropped onto his folded arms on the table in front of him.

“What?” Grantaire mimicked Enjolras’ posture so he could be one the same level as him; Grantaire watched Enjolras hide his face and sighed.

After a moment Enjolras’ words began again, “failing them all. Failing those who have placed their faith in me. Because it happened once, I was only like twenty but I messed up and someone got hurt.” He cast a furtive glance at Grantaire, eyes distant and hazy from drink.

“It wasn’t your fault, though. They all chose to be there. It’s their choice, Enjolras, in the end it always is.” He stares at Enjolras intently, chin on folded arms, adjacent to Enjolras who is still hiding.

“No, she wasn’t one of us. She was chasing her brother and some boy to our ranks…” He heaved a shuddering sigh before continuing, “She was shot. Twice.” He was gazing forward now, staring at the wall.

Grantaire reached a tentative hand out towards Enjolras’ shoulder, Enjolras flinched compulsively but didn’t draw away from Grantaire’s touch. Enjolras’ blue eyes met Grantaire’s as he finally looked at him through the alcohol. “I’m always the strong one, Grantaire. But I’m not made of marble and I can’t stop it all from _hurting_ sometimes. It hurts so goddamn much, I feel like a thousand years is on my shoulders.”

The years showed, not in Enjolras’ youthful face but in his eyes. Eyes of an old and tortured soul, wise and powerful but broken as any who as seen as much pain and suffering. Grantaire didn’t answer him instead he moved his hand from Enjolras’ shoulder to caress the side of Enjolras’ face with the back of his hand.

Enjolras leaned into his touch. And Grantaire moved so he was kneeling in front of Enjolras, his other arm resting on Enjolras’ knees, hand still pressed to Enjolras’ face.

“I know you feel like you have to change the world, Enjolras. But I promise you it will all be alright tomorrow even if it’s still as awful as today. You know why? Because even if you haven’t changed the world you’ve changed the people in it, you really have. I mean look at all of us—look at me, for God’s sake—none of us would be who we are today if you hadn’t found us all the beginning of freshman year. You may not be a revolutionary today, Apollo, but you’ve already done more for the people—for us—than anyone could have expected.”

Enjolras—who Grantaire had never seen falter or even seem the slightest bit discouraged—was now staring sadly at somewhere behind Grantaire, looking straight through him. His hands were in his lap as if he was unsure what to do. “They don’t need me to lead them to failure, nobody needs that.” He said quietly. Enjolras was the chief, the backbone to the other Amis, the backbone for Grantaire to rest on. But now that he was here, so obviously broken and collapsed before Grantaire, Grantaire didn’t really know what to do.

He took Enjolras’ face in both his hands again, thumbs stroking gently along his jawline, and stared him in the eyes and said to him in a serious tone, “Enjolras, you’re probably the stupidest brilliant man I’ve ever met. Haven’t you been listening? These people all these people, they’re making their own choices and all, and they’ll be _fine,_ do you hear me? But listen; there is something I want you to know, okay? I need you, I need you, Enjolras. And I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I honestly probably wouldn’t even be here as I am today if it weren’t for you. It’s okay to not be sure; it’s okay to not be okay, Apollo. Even Gods have their faults. But that’s what I’m here for, okay? I’ll always be here for you, God knows you’re always there for me, I promise I won’t go away…” Grantaire trailed off, searching Enjolras’ eyes for any signs of response before continuing gently, “That is, if you’ll permit it.”

Without a word Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand in his own, a ghost of a hopeful smile on his lips. Grantaire smiled too, grasping Enjolras’ hand tightly in return. It was answer enough; Grantaire knew that Enjolras was special but sometimes Enjolras didn’t quite see it himself and the fact that Grantaire now knew he could make Enjolras believe in him (and himself) for a little while was good enough for him.

Acting upon instinct, Grantaire leaned forward to quickly press a kiss to the corner of Enjolras’ mouth, only lingering long enough to catch the scent of Enjolras’ aftershave.

Somewhat drunkenly, Enjolras disentangled his hands from Grantaire’s on his own lap and proceeded to wrap his arms around the still kneeling man’s neck, bringing them closer together, foreheads touching. “I need you, too.” He whispered and Grantaire kissed him again, along his jaw. Enjolras closed his eyes, sinking into the moment of intimate quiet, focusing only on their breathing and Grantaire’s solid form that he clung to.

After a few minutes he kissed Grantaire back and kept kissing him like there was no tomorrow and there was no end and there was no pain. Grantaire pushed forward, his hands all over Enjolras’ torso, fighting to get under Enjolras’ tucked-in shirt. Enjolras kissed his way down Grantaire’s neck, working under his jaw and in the hollow of his throat where his unbuttoned shirt didn’t quite cover.

It doesn’t last long before Grantaire pulled away and stood up, pulling Enjolras along with him. “Man, you’re _drunk_.” He said with a grim smirk on his face, though not an unkind one.

“Not _that_ drunk.” Enjolras protested as he tried to stand beside Grantaire, only finding the room much more dizzying than he remembered it being and swaying a bit.

“Yes, you are. Face it; you can’t handle your alcohol, Apollo.” Grantaire began guiding Enjolras towards the his bedroom. “You’re not going home to Combeferre like this, he’d kill me. So you can stay here tonight, alright?”

Enjolras muttered something affirmatively before allowing Grantaire to dump him unceremoniously onto his unmade bed. “Mmm...” A muffled Enjolras said, curling up the blankets like a cat, he only had just realized how sleepy he actually was. Everything smelled like Grantaire and, at this moment, Enjolras couldn’t think of a more comforting or relaxing scent.

“Take off your shoes for God’s sake,” Grantaire complained as he stripped out of his jeans and plaid shirt, opting for his boxers and a t-shirt before getting into bed with Enjolras.

Enjolras groaned and toed off his shoes before making himself comfortable in the bed—still on the position Grantaire had dumped him, mind you.

“You’re hopeless,” sighed Grantaire as he switched off the light and draped a blanket over Enjolras. He settled in himself before turning to look at the almost asleep figure beside him. He chuckled a little to himself, “You know, I never thought it would happen this way the first time.” He murmured, brushing aside some of the curls that had fallen across Enjolras’ face.

He thought Enjolras asleep before a still muffled answer reached him, “Bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” Before falling back into silence, eyes still closed and face relaxed.

“Not at all,” He said quietly before leaning forward and kissing Enjolras’ forehead. Grantaire realized how not-drunk he was when the clock continued ticking and he didn’t drift into an uneasy sleep full of nightmares. He figured if anyone was going to wake up with a hangover and no recollection of the night it would be Enjolras for once and not him.

Grantaire smiled at the apparently sleeping figure; he looked younger asleep, innocent, less troubled. Grantaire wished he could take all of Enjolras’ pain away, take all the bad years and bad times away from him and carry them all himself. Grantaire watched Enjolras in the least-creeper way he could manage—he was beginning to feel slightly like Marius—but was distracted, as always, by Enjolras’ fierce beauty, even asleep he was gorgeous. His pretty face wasn’t the only thing that inspired Grantaire, though; it was also his unwavering faith and spirit. Enjolras was like nobody Grantaire had ever met before, passionate about his beliefs as well as about others and about himself. Enjolras was caring and just but also terrible, all that passion has to come from somewhere, thought Grantaire when he saw Enjolras become infuriated over some injustice.

But in sleep Grantaire’s marble god was humanized, the fierce glint in his eye and royal tilt of his head vanished in sleep, leaving behind a very vulnerable and boyish face behind. Still as beautiful as ever, this new younger Enjolras seemed to hold the true nature of the fearless leader; one who was not so fearless, not so stoic, and not so terrible. This could be the face that had not seen so many awful things, felt so much pain, and seen so much wrong in the world. Grantaire wished he could keep this Enjolras to show the waking one, to point out his relaxed and non-furrowed brow and say, “look, it’s going to be okay, look.”

But life is not like sleep and once Enjolras awoke Grantaire knew he would still remember the awful things, the pain, the wrong. All he could do was remember this sleeping, uncorrupted, indifferent Enjolras for a time when it was needed, when innocence was needed.

For now he rested his head on the pillow beside Enjolras’ and contented himself with running his fingers through Enjolras’ hair and watching him travel back in time. “I really do love you, Enj.” He said, his fingers ceasing their combing.

In the dark the clock ticked, their breathing mixed together, and they lay not quite touching but facing each other. It was all quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists after 1am in the modern world. Grantaire felt himself beginning to fall asleep to the lullaby of breathing, ticking, and silence and he quietly tried to nestle himself closer to Enjolras.

An unexpected sound came from beside him, a muffled, sleepy voice in the dark. “I love you, too, R. Don’t forget it either.” Enjolras moved so that he was pressed comfortably against Grantaire’s side, sighing contentedly as he seemed to promptly fall back asleep.


	3. King & Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is trying to study for finals. Grantaire is trying to study Enjolras. Guess who wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO SWEET BABY ANGEL READERS. I'm really sorry I haven't updated in so long, I myself have been going a bit crazy with finals and am finally done and have caught up on my sleep enough to properly write again. Yay.  
> Hope you enjoy xoxoxo
> 
> Oh! And here is my working playlist for this fic if you'd care to give a listen: http://8tracks.com/allonsies/something-vague

_In the sea that’s painted black_  
 _Creatures lurk below the deck._  
 _And as the world comes to an end_  
 _I’ll be here to hold your hand_  
 _‘Cause you’re my king and I’m your lionheart._

They didn’t exactly call it dating. Not at first. Even though everyone knew and smirked at how Enjolras watched Grantaire leave the Musain on bad nights and how he followed him on good nights. The other Amis laughed at how Grantaire would text Enjolras while he gave speeches and how Enjolras would go pink around the ears when he read them. Jehan said he had known it would happen since the beginning, Courfeyrac just laughed a lot, and Combeferre seemed relieved they had finally gotten together.

It was good for the most part. They seemed to be happy, to be completely absorbed in one another, and all together rather smitten with being “in love.”

The day they told the others was a momentous day indeed. Courfeyrac cheered while taking money from Bossuet and Feuilly who thought Enjolras and Grantaire would keep their growing relationship under wraps for a little longer. Marius winked at Enjolras and Éponine kissed Grantaire on the cheek before Enjolras shooed her away and kissed Grantaire full on the mouth as everyone watched.

The days grew longer as the semester grew shorter. Finals were coming up and school was coming to a close. Enjolras was obviously stressed and spent increasing amounts of time locked away either in the library or his room. Combeferre, as his roommate, who usually had the duty of banging on his door and making Enjolras eat every few hours decided to let Grantaire have the job.

“Just make sure he isn’t in there _all_ day,” Combeferre told Grantaire when he appeared around noon.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him occupied.” Grantaire said incapable of hiding the small twitch of his mouth.

“Ugh, save the details for him, okay I’ll be back around eight, make sure you don’t distract him too much…” Combeferre smirked at Grantaire’s reddening cheeks. He gathered his books and left quickly, stopping only to pat Grantaire on the back, “thanks, he’ll appreciate it.”

As soon as the door closed behind Combeferre Grantaire went to Enjolras’ closed door and knocked quickly before opening the door and entering.

“Wow,” was his response to seeing Enjolras’ room. Books and papers were stacked and scattered haphazardly, bowls and half-emptied cups of coffee covered every tabletop, and Enjolras was in the corner seated before a huge and messy desk typing away on his laptop.

“Is there even a system here?” Grantaire said as he tentatively picked his way towards the bed to sit on the edge facing Enjolras.

“Hm? When did you get here, Grantaire? And yes, of course there is, I always have a system.” Enjolras didn’t even look up, he merely continued to type while talking distractedly. He flapped a disinterested hand towards the piles of loose papers and books before returning to his work.

“Your room seems to suggest otherwise…” Grantaire said almost inaudibly. Enjolras hated it when he pointed out how messy the otherwise impeccable state of living Enjolras inhabited. Most of the time when he was focused on one cause or issue he tended to hyper-focus all his energy and mind power to the problem until it was solved. This was incredible to watch, but it was a little like watching a tornado crash through an area, destroying everything in its path.

“Don’t listen to it.” Enjolras said dismissively.

“Have you eaten yet?” Grantaire picked up a thick book off the ground near his feet, _Comparative Politics, Volume 8._ Sounded fascinating. He put the book back down.

“Hmmm, no. What time is it?”

“Almost 12:30. ‘Ferre says you’ve been up since 8, you should take a break, it IS Saturday after all.” Grantaire chided.

“…I… have… so …. Much to… do….” Enjolras sounded slightly crazed now.

“Yeah, well we all do. That doesn’t mean you should starve yourself.” Grantaire got up and went to stand behind Enjolras. He put his hands on Enjolras’ head and leaned forward to see what he was writing. “’Inadvertent Political Movements of Nineteenth Century France?’ Sounds fascinating…” He ran his fingers absentmindedly through Enjolras’ already tousled hair.

 “With references to Greek and Roman similarities,” Enjolras corrected him. He leaned back, head coming into contact with Grantaire’s stomach. He reached up to catch one of Grantaire’s hands in his own and pressed it to his mouth, grinning.

“Make sure you mention the mighty Apollo,” Grantaire murmured as his free hand continued to weave its way through Enjolras’ increasingly mussed curls.

Enjolras let go of Grantaire’s hand, sighing slightly.

It was Grantaire’s turn to sigh, “Come on Enjolras, you need to take a break. Your French Revolution will still be here after lunch.” No response. Well, it looked as if it was time for emergency measures.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire practically purred in Enjolras’ ear, he pretended not to notice Enjolras’ fidgeting as he pressed his mouth to Enjolras’ neck. “Come on, take a goddamn break…” He moved to Enjolras’ jaw, kissing his way towards Enjolras’ scowling mouth.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras weakly tried protest before giving up. He swiveled his chair around and pulled Grantaire down by the front of his shirt in order to properly kiss him, hard.

Grantaire felt his thoughts begin to melt away and he sighed into Enjolras’ mouth only encouraging Enjolras’ endeavors. He felt Enjolras’ heart beating rapidly as he was practically sitting on his lap at this point.

After what felt like several long minutes Grantaire pulled back and smirked as Enjolras followed instinctively. He quite liked the look of the thoroughly tousled and kissed Enjolras, his mouth was slightly red and he looked as dazed as Grantaire felt. Grantaire patted Enjolras fondly on the cheek before turning to leave the room, “Come on, as much as I enjoy spending time locked away in your room you need to get out of it now.”

He smiled as Enjolras obediently followed.

Over sandwiches from the nearest grocery store they sat outside in the grass surrounding the campus, enjoying the pleasant day as they ate. “Careful, Apollo, you wouldn’t want to get sick before finals,” Grantaire noted as he watched Enjolras consume his food faster than one normally would if they had not been sitting locked away all day studying.

Enjolras made a face at him before finishing off his sandwich. After making a show of licking his fingers he said, “Why do you still call me that?”

“Because you’re my sun.” Grantaire said almost casually. He pretended not to notice the slightly pained way Enjolras way looking at him. His sunglasses gave him an excuse to not meet Enjolras’ beseeching gaze.

“Don’t say that,” Enjolras turned to face Grantaire. He grabbed Grantaire’s hand. “You always act like I’m the only important thing about you. But that’s not true, you’re amazing, you are, Grantaire. Not me, you.” He said imploringly.

Grantaire still refused to meet Enjolras’ gaze. “That’s not true though, you’re the one who believes in the goodness of humanity. I never believed in anything before you.”

“You’re stronger than you think, Grantaire. I know it.” Enjolras moved closer so he was kneeling in front of Grantaire, who finally looked up from picking at the grass. “Anyway, Apollo’s relationships always ended badly. I’d rather be Orestes, at least he gets to go on adventures.”

Grantaire smiled a little, “does that make me Plyades?”

“Of course,” Enjolras reached forward to brush the back of his hand along Grantaire’s cheek, stopping to rest at his jaw. “Orestes wouldn’t have gotten very far without Plyades.”

Grantaire sighed, looking away. “I’m not like you; I’m not destined for greatness.”

Enjolras took both of Grantaire’s hands. “On the contrary, Plyades was the brave one, he was the one who defended Orestes. Grantaire, I know you’re not ready to accept that you’re as great, if not greater, than I, but can you at least accept the fact that I would not be where I am without you?”

Grantaire tried to believe it, but years of being told otherwise made believing in oneself not an easy task. At least, not one that could be completed in one sitting. Enjolras refused to accept—as Grantaire refused to accept he was worthy—that Grantaire was nothing without Enjolras as Grantaire believed. As so many people had told, shouted, beaten into Grantaire over his life. So many people had yelled and scolded and demanded that he give himself or parts of himself over in one form or another yet he had refused them. It was funny, all these years Grantaire believed himself incapable of belief or emotion like this and yet here he was sitting in front of someone who he would so easily and completely give himself over to, yet Enjolras refused to accept. So instead of answering, instead of trying to say all the words in his head, Grantaire leaned forward and kissed Enjolras with all the conviction he had never believed himself capable of.

He knew Enjolras knew it wouldn’t be an easy, carefree path they had chosen. He knew that they may not always be happy or always agree, but it had to be worth it, right? Because there was always that feeling that they had known each other for longer than this life seemed to suggest, that feeling that in a past life they may have been adventurers or revolutionaries, that feeling that whispered they had been together before and would be together again. Even if their pasts had been troubled and painful, it would all be okay because even the darkest night would end and the sun would rise. Even if they never saw each other again, it all had to worth now; Enjolras’ skin so close to his and the feeling of many past lives, the guilt, and the grief all melting into this moment: now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a small piece on Orestes and Plyades that you will probably have feels over:
> 
> A dialogue entitled Erotes ("Affairs of the Heart")  
> "Taking the love god as the mediator of their emotions for each other, they sailed together as it were on the same vessel of life...nor did they restrict their affectionate friendship to the limits of Hellas....as soon as they set foot on the land of the Tauride, the Fury of matricides was there to welcome the strangers, and, when the natives stood around them, the one was struck to the ground by his usual madness and lay there, but Pylades 'did wipe away the foam and tend his frame and shelter him with a fine well-woven robe,' thus showing the feelings not merely of a lover, but also of a father. But when it had been decided that, while one remained to be killed, the other should depart for Mycenae to bear a letter, each wished to remain for the sake of the other, considering that he himself lived in the survival of his friend. But Orestes refused to take the letter, claiming Pylades was the fitter person to do so, and thus showed himself almost to be the lover rather than the beloved."


End file.
